dünyayı tedavi etmemi istiyorlar benden, sıklaştırmalıymışım safları
sağdan say dediklerinde, 1 demeliymişim kadrolu saftorik olarak
sonrası kolaymış, olaymış birine yardım etmesem
kürekle kilo kaybına uğramış fareymiş mesela yolda rastladığım
uygun bir çukura gömmeli diye geçirmeliymişim aklımdan
konteynıra bıraksam, gaz yaparmış vicdan bütün gün

sonbaharmışım, kaldı ki, yaz fortun damağında
dönüp geri bakamaz, plajdan öpücük alamazmışım
hüzünmüşüm biraz işte, üzülmüşüm o yüzden
kapa çeneni diyemezmişim pençedeki deliğe
üşür
ıslanır
büzüşürmüş etiyopya nüfuslu ayak parmaklarım

ama yetmezmiş, bu daha ne ki
yollardan bonsai man toplar, karakolda ifadeye gam üflermişim
angaryaymışım ben, asli görevimmiş hayal kırıklığı
atar damar atarlanamazmış mesela
atanırmış kalbe
düşü anket
düşük banket sevdalar

dur sen
bu daha ne ki
sevemezmişim
o da ne demekmiş öyle
işine bakmışım ben

güzmüş, güzelmiş
ama tüzelmişim ben
neme gerekmiş bahar
çileymişim ben
çilek kim, ben kim
soğukmuş
donukmuş
kullanılmışım ben

o benmişim
kederin
ayrılığın karanlık şehri
o ben işte
ruhu bedeni har
varın albatrosa sorun
benim adım sonbahar...

ve bu benim kanım, akşam yemeğim gelenlere ne mutlu.

i really tried my best in learning some Turkish
before our next meeting...
   and here is my blood,
                 happy are those who come to my supper...

well... i already wasted one bottle of wine on Jemminah:
i still have one left, probably the finest of the batch,
so i texted her at 3am in the morning:
i knew she would be up...
   the sun was teasing the sky by just about
raising a desert storm of colour below the ink blue
hue of night when she replied
to my text: are you available tomorrow?
i have a present for you, maybe you do, maybe you don't
but i'm bringing some of my homemade wine
over...

yep... she is... right... time to get ready...
i'm not leaving that brothel without having *******...

strange two days... for all the **** i've been
through since the age of 21 through to about 30...
life... oh it's come back: or rather... i've come back
to life...
    i'm already holding this ram by the horns
and wrestling with it...

    oh right... i came home at 2am... stayed up
until about 5am, woke up at around 11am...
where was i last night?

the times Wednesday June 1, 2022,
is this UK's final glimpse of Messi?
james gheerbrant -
in march 1960, evlis presley stopped over
at the US airbase in Prestwick and spent a
couple of hours mingling with the Ayrshire
locals, in what turned out to be the only
occasion he set foot on British soil.
when Lionel Messi captains Argentina
in the Finalissima against Italy at Wembley
tonight, it will be his 25th game in this
country, yet his appearances still have
the same sense of visiting royalty,
      a brush with something luminous,
a story for the grand-children, laced with
the possibility that this might be the last time...

oh right... that's where i was...
   **** me... by the end of it even through it
i started yawning...

not out of any disrespect for the genius that is Messi,
but... see... i've never seen Argentinian women
before... i probably have but you never truly know
unless they're wearing an Argentina football shirt...
and something hit me...
like it hit me when i was grooming my female
cat and she stuck her *** in my face from pleasure
and something grotesque was woken up
and had to be be immediately translated onto
a woman... or rather: hidden inside a woman...

took me about a whole night trying to find a new
brothel around London... i did... but the price
was too steep... and everything about Stratford
is shady... a whole night cycling towards central
London and back... in between shady places...
second night i was losing my libido
and went to the one i knew by heart near
Goodmayes train station...
     that's when i met Khedra... after a disappointing
hour spent with this timid little Romanian number...
who... no... she shouldn't be into prostitution...
for the love of god i tried to get a hard-on...
i blamed it on myself: maybe i drank too much?
but... i'm already on my second libido-booster:
the first i've already "ingested" - exercise...
cycling toward Upminster and back and around
Upminster towards Rainham...
exercise is an aphrodisiac... mix that with fresh
air... sunlight and nature...
boom... get the blood flowing...
                                the second aphrodisiac?
white wine... not rose, not red... white wine...

so i thought, maybe i drank too much?
   no... she was just a timid creature that...
    had zero skills... and she was "supposedly" a *******...
obviously younger than me...
so... i just lay there with her in my arms
and we exchanged words for body parts
in three languages...
   just leaving Khedra came in... boom!
thank god it's no longer something stupid as:
"love at first sight"... thank god it has become:
lust at thirst-sight
                       because: it's true... it's exactly that...
once you pass your 30s you get this
spectacular... hmm... "magic" of being able to
find compatibility in the right sort of place...
what better place than in a brothel?
    i mean... ha ha: are we there to talk about
Walter Sickert? are we here to talk about...
  geo-politics?! feminism?!
                we're at a butcher's shop and we're getting
some meat... and we're talking to the butcher...
ergo?

mind you: while cycling i really thought about it...
you can't really employ the ad hominem argument
against Marquis de Sade...
   i did read through his biography...
                   he really wasn't such bad of a man as
history lends itself for us to believe...
personally? i think he had some pretty ****** ideas...
but as a person, sure... his imagination was wicked...
but he was imprisoned for... what?
asking a ******* to use a crucifix as a *****?
and these days if you skim through some...
soft-core *******... you'll find what?
well... it's not exactly a crucifix... but Saint Sebastian of
Cucumberia is pretty popular with the nuns
of modern secularism...

     he was imprisoned more of the time than
he could have had the time to fulfill all those whims
of 120 days of *****...
among other works...
                        ****** is a different matter...
that's a stand-alone work that's his pinnacle...
it's a good thing i read him when
my own hormones were pulsating in my teens...
that kind of subdued matters, youthful frustrations...
if anything: his uncle was the real rascal!
because the argument that Slayer or any other
music for that matter incentives anger and
violence is BULL-*****...
                                it subdues it... if anything...
it reduces it to a fantasy land whim-whipped-day-dream

like marquis de sade and the idea of
regular ***...
    eh... turns out it's better to take decent breaks...
sort of live the life of a Konrad von Wallenrode...
after all... the Teutonic Knights
did have a brothel with the walls of their citadel
capital of Ordensburg Marienburg...
    so... let's not pretend what is... and what isn't
happening...
  
thank for that! for what? i just keep hearing these
nightmare stories on the internet...
Tinder this: swipe swipe left left left left...
Tinder that: swipe swipe right right right right...
once i met this guy who laughed about
people who joined Facebook... that got on me...
i was fooled! back in the day?
when Facebook was exclusively for university
students?! yeah... it made sense...
obvious blah blah some years later and it's
a boomer gimmick like e-harmony etc.,
                     but me?
   oh no... not another social media bullshitter
going to **** me in... my use of the internet?
i'm in... i'm out...
    i come here to gush out my thoughts slit the veins
of my imagination, drink... listen to music...
read someone else's suicide notes and *******
to bed...

i don't think i have ever commented on anything
that i otherwise must comment on to get a pass
for something... because...
yeah, right... you buy a book...
and you then what? scribble your opinion on the last
page of the inside of the cover and expect what?
a response?

and this whole, modern, fixation on dating apps?
hook-up apps? it was never my thing,
the whole dating "revolution" passed me by,
shoom! gone! bye bye...
            nothing is ever good when it's easy...
losing 20+kg was never going to be easy...
being falsely diagnosed as a schizophrenic was
never going to be easy...
but... i wriggled out of both of these "percularities"
(yes, i do you mingle the technique of
misnomerism with metaphors)
hence the air-quotes... ambiguity...
   everything for the imagination to unravel: revel in...

in alba vino volo (in white wine: desire)...

i even cut down on my smoking to get a better /
prolonged *******...
obviously i had to check...
   check over... jerking off to almost ****** and then...
o.k., everything's in working order...
now to write something, take a shower,
pamper myself and ******* with that bottle
of wine of mine to **** Khedra...

**** me... if i had to go through all the clumsy
dating advice, even clumsier dates...
eating food... ugh... who the hell wants to **** someone
on a full stomach?
mind you there also that: MAYBE...
because there's no guarantee...
**** first, talk later...

                            easy? easy? what's easy?
first you have to sit through the ante-chamber
interrogation room of about 12 prostitutes...
and they have eyes like the beak of the eagle
that's bound to eating Prometheus' liver, for ****'s sake!

sure... yesterday was fun... i had a chance
to perhaps see Lionel Messi for the last time in England...
but i also managed to see all those
Argentinian women... that was a breaking point
for me... south American women... mmm hmm...
yummy doesn't even cover it...

today? it had to be: i had to go all out...
i had to start the day off by eating two soft-boiled
eggs...
and then? ****** off to my Turkish barber to
get me beard trimmed...
i once remarked it (getting a beard trim)
was better than getting a blow-job...
i'd like to retract that statement:
a beard trim and a hair-cut done by the same barber
feels: just as good...
eh... a beard trim is a beard trim...
my mustache was overgrowing my lips:
drink and random food and snot was getting
stuck in it... how am i going to kiss her?

oh when Cedilla met Caron...
that's
                    when Çedilla
  (soft, although it ought to be hard)
                                 Čaron (there's no "soft" caron -
it's most certainly re-laid as
the Greek Xaron - Kharon - even though...
  chasing chiseled chalk and cheese)...

ah... the enthralling sensation of meeting someone
for some carnal debauchery...
one bottle of white done - check
visit to the barber shop - check
exercise prior - check
a decent amount of protein ingested - check
press-ups - check
pandering... ****... i need to trim my nails scrub
away all the dead skin off the soles of my feet,
wash myself thoroughly... use all the necessary
chemistry to give off whiffs of freshness...
   have i trimmed my "other" beard?
yes, yes i have...
    well then...

    eski kuzgunsaçlar (old raven-hair)...
   here i come!

God's Mercy rushed
over me,
enshrouded you
in its grace.

It washed us
clean,
its tide so calm, so pure.
It was my mother’s breathing,
your father’s laughter,
their chests rising and
falling.


It tore off our
skin
in another war of charity;
it peeled us
to the holy core.

Then all I knew was that
I felt safe with you.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.
Tanrı benim gücümdür.
Tanrım, lütfen beni koru.

Down from the imposing
basilica's dome,
to the pulpit's
booming drone,
to our soul's
cold sweat
after the angels have gone
to bed.

We saw it all with bloodshot eyes,
wondering how
we could flay ourselves
further yet.

Then all you knew was that
you were scared of yourself.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.
Tanrı benim gücümdür.
Tanrım, lütfen beni koru.

Damla damla geldi yağmurlar gibi,
Bir hafif yağıştan aldım bir ilham,
Şairim öyle de yazdım tabii,
Ve kelimeleri döktü hep kalem.

Dağılmış, yayılmış mis kokular hoş,
Ağaçlar yakarsan yanamaz ateş,
Boz bulutlar geldi, gelmedi güneş,
Bu bahar yağışı eder hep devam.

Böyle havalarda etmem şikayet,
O düşen inciler değil mi rahmet,
Akan yağmur bence güzel bir nimet,
Fikirler gibi havada gezer nem.

Böyle bir destan biraz başka olmuş,
Küçük yağışlar gibi kısa olmuş,
Bu sevimli inşallah sana olmuş,
Yağmurlu günlerde olsun sana şem.

Bir yağmurlu günde yazdım bir destan,
Ben böyle inşallah oldum bir ozan,
Boyle bir şiir görsün benim divan,
Okuyanlar duysun benden vesselam!

title: workout
body: roundabout dot, dough 2.   502 bypass

i only woke up at 2pm, even though i had snippets
of consciousness by 10am...
11am... i was in and out of sleep: my dream was yesterday,
i slouched home at 3am...
finished the shift at Fulham at the exact timing
of 10:15pm... all my coworkers stood me up...
apparently i didn't follow instructions
but in the back of my mind was the motto:
safety, security, service... if two elder gentlemen
came up to me with concerns over why one
of the gates in the park was closed...
that there might be a stampede when people
were leaving... what was i going to do or rather
not do? not stand by the gates and not direct
people? luckily all went smoothly...
so what if the supervisor had to wait ten minutes
more so that i might return my walky-talky
and my accreditation... people's safety is the priority...
some *******... but your other lesser supervisor
messaged you... no they didn't... only the upper supervisor
did when asking if there were any radios still
not returned to him... i have a witness...
this 19 year old Romanian kid i was working with...
the one who was sitting in a Turkish akimbo
on the bench next to me when we were taking
a break... the one i managed to sort out with a free
cheeseburger that would otherwise set him back
6 squid... anyways... i was getting paid to work until
10:15... so i don't see any issue...
grumpy old men and their: "leave ten minutes early"...
England... a nation of alcoholics and workaholics...
life's too short... i already promised myself this:
the money i earn will go to prostitutes...
i was tired but... i arrived at Goodmayes...
bought myself 35cl of brandy and a bottle of coca cola...
circled the brothel several times trying to relax...
hype myself up... finally walked in...
that's what i promised myself... i'll spend the money
i earn on prostitutes...
                        what else am i going to spend it on?
vinyl? there's only so much vinyl a man can own...
shoes? clothes? drugs?
well... brandy doesn't count...
                  sort of like buying water... for me at least...
10 quid at the entrance... but i asked the madam:
is she here? Khedira, Khadijah?
the Turkish girl? is she here?
    how many girls are there? two?
o.k. - what an impression i made in my work clothes...
long coat... she later touched it: oh, so soft...
almost like a mink...
                  tall, dark brown handsome devil...
she was there... how relieved i was to see her face...
when you're ready? right now...
i took the other girls hand and kissed in...
into the bedroom... mirrors... mirrors...
in her own tongue... which was constantly waggling
like a primitive life-form of its on volition
eagerly seeking light or in this case...
the phallus and my own tongue and lips...
look into the mirror as i **** you off:
the best sort of *****...
  ooh... murderer eyes...
                          güzel adam: her own words...
          we started off with her sitting in my lap...
after i took a shower to clean myself up...
took off her bra and her underwear...
    she was mine... for an hour she was mine...
at 35 i thought it odd that i would be trying
******* for the first time, i snorted a little
and told her: it has no affect on me...
  i prefer marijuana... i used to smoke a while...
what effect did it have on me?
a second became a minute and a minute became
an hour and an hour became a day...
tiredness... a sneaky symptom of a slightly limp
****... but what i wanted... she also wanted...
me standing on the edge of the bed
performing the doggy *** position...
  she didn't even mind me slapping her ***...
she even responded positively... pinching her...
biting her... of course i didn't ******...
but at the same time: she noted my care for hygiene...
she put a ****** on... later noticing my discomfort
she took it off: live dangerously she said...
yeah: unprotected *** with a *******...
seems like i have special privileges with her...
if i can have unprotected *** with her...
it's not like i was going to ******* into her...
oh... but such a body in my arms...
  i could throw pearls to pigs...
            i could sink a thousand ships containing
Mayan gold into the sea...
but this body in my arms...
                  i knelt in between our *******...
kneeling my head was aligned with her collar bone...
petite tender creature...
ol' raven haired Turkic countess...
              and such ****** contortions as i rammed her
changing pace from doggy
to her on her back with her feet on my shoulders...
tongue waggling: eagerly seeking a kiss...
so i ****** her tongue in between slobs of
the oysters and the clams of lips pursuing each other...
today i woke up... dazed... no confused...
just... relaxed... even though i didn't ******,
i told her... that's not important to me...
i like the mere act... the ****** doesn't bother me...
i can but i don't have to... look... i'm tired...
i just wanted to be with you...
i'm not going to wash myself after this hour...
i want to have your scent on my skin...
you married? no... well that's good...
i want to keep you for a while longer...
          then she proved the pinnacle of my success...
can i have your number?
sure... so you call me when you want to come...
and i'll tell you if i'm available...
so what's your actual name? Khedra...
inshallah...
                            at one point she did use that
phrase: already a scheme in her mind...
            güzel adam - inshallah...
                          my thoughts exactly... there might as well
be a third branch of Islam...
not the one associated with the Arabs the Sunnis
or the Persians - the ****'ahs...
but one more... associated with the Turks exclusively...
i'd love to see a third branch of Islam emerge...
it has to splinter further...
if it truly was the one true religion:
there would be no schism... oddly enough the schism
arrived so early... maybe a second schism would
do the religion some good... the Turks could take
charge of this second schism...
really charge it along the lines of
                                  Sufism *** Gnosticism...
at 2am after i left around 1am she sent me her picture...
honestly? she looks better in real life...
much younger... animated...
some people are just not photogenic...
they need to be contort prone...
they are not supposed to be frozen... in a photograph...
being *** starved, intimacy starved...
no wonder i feel so relaxed today...
then again: if i had this sort of intimacy somewhat
permanently, i'd take it for granted...
i like the idea that i have periods of the cold dark...
of inanimate objects growing ears and eyes...
whenever i come across another living creature
and interact with them sexually...
certain chemicals blah blah are produced and i relax...
again... the act itself... how beautiful two bodies look
so entwined in the act... esp. if she tells you:
look in the mirror... look at us...
**** me... unprotected *** with a *******...
*******... just tells you how bad things are
on the dating market in the West...
prostitutes have better barometers when it comes
to STDs than most women in the West...
then again: she is Turkish...
                      Khedra... no... **** dating... i tried that...
Jeminah burned me...
i had stomach cramps i thought was out of love...
no... just a premonition... this is going to go nowhere...
she's going to ******* up...
what, a, *******, waste, of, time: and good wine...
and a banana loaf...
no can do... i'd rather pay up front for intimacy than
weave some ******* courtship past-time of
going on dates, for dinner...
i'd rather cough up £120 upfront and get what i want
than ******* enter some sexless limbo land
of ginger goats and blue sheep... count count...
n'ah ah... fall asleep?
        i'm not even going to bother thinking about
Western women... **** that...
Oriental? nope... Asiatic "proper" i.e. Indian or Pakistani
or Arab? nope...
Turkish... we come from the same womb of
the Caucasian sort... we're steppe people...
formerly known as... why, *******, bother?
i don't need a headache... i want an *** to slap... a neck
to bite...
    oh she burned me... sure... she might have had
hundreds of "customers"... but i hardly think any of them
looked into her eyes with such passion...
i told her: ******* has had no effect on me...
i'm here for you and you alone...
now i have her number... maybe we can get at it
outside the brothel...
well i must be doing something right, right?
all the women at work are school-girls... stunted
psychological growth... they're petty gremlins...
ugly souls... ****-able after a few drinks and if they
tarted themselves a bit more...
but... ugly... bog souls...
                    petty critters... backstabbing ghoulish
soap-opera drama queens...
i had to learn the tactic of veneer...
acting... politeness... superficiality... it's brain-dead-numbing...
but if that's what's supposed to be...
so be it...
as the zeitgeist narrative of the West goes
in terms of ****** dynamics: white women hating
themselves for a past that has endowed them with...
all that interracial *******...
breeding out a neu-Bra-tsil... well...
hmm... i have an idea of my own... i'm not going down
the narrative... chances of me meeting a girl of
my own ethnic synonym: "missing"...
better with prostitutes than with girls who are
merely looking for a meal-ticket...
Heidegger: ponderings XI - aphorism  50...
"westliche demokratien"... written circa 1939...
resounds more true than anything i have yet
to read... reed...
my god... what intimacy can do to a man...
but better i don't get used to it...
when i'm starved of it and i encounter it...
i can throw my entire weight about...
i can go overboard... full: utterly full charm offensive...
mirrors *******... slapping the ***...
biting... pinching... kneeling before the altar
of a woman's body...
doo-doo eyed the next day, relaxed...
not taking anything for granted...
now i have her number...  eski kuzgun saçlar...
old raven hair... tatlı kiraz...
benim aşk...
                                    if that's how it's going to
go... i'm sure of it...
the Turks could branch off from the already
established Islam... they could revise it...
have their own version... become the bridging
positive force... of all the Islamic people...
the Turks i respect the most...

- tesekiur ederim qeanam...
- benim güzel kuzgun-saçlar

      welll... unlike the diacritical markers in French...
the cedilla in French: garçon... thatr's
a "secretive" version of the Greek sigma:
στιγμας...
  the variation between Turkish and Czech
is that the cedilla... is equivalent to the caron...
ergo?

                      Ç = Č ≠ S...

Yanıldım
Yalnızdım da
Hayallerim geçmişimi öldürene kadar.
Köpeğimi, yıldızlarımı ve sokak lambamı çaldılar

O köpekti
Benimle ağlayan
Şimdi çığlıklarımı bile duyamayan

O yıldızlardı
Beni bağlayan
Şimdi denizlerde boğulan

O sokak lambasıydı
Her gece hayallerime ışık tutan
Şimdi uykusuz ve yalnız bırakan.

Ve o gecelerin ardından
Uyandım yine, benim için karanlık bir güne
Kurumuş birkaç ağaç, kirli bir deniz

belli
standartlara bağlı kalmadan
uyanıyorum sabahları

kahrolası rüyaların
uykumu budamasından nefret ediyorum
ama alıştım artık

akşamdan kalma suratımı
camdan yalayan güneşe dayıyorum
uyanır uyanmaz

dua etmem
gerekmiyor hizmet için tanrıya
hem kilise ikonları cezbetmiyor

vaaza karnım tok
sübyancı piçler diye kalaylıyorum
okudukça pisliklerini

aslolan
kutsal kase
gri tayyörün eteğine bayılıyorum
susurluk ayranı gibi dökülen döküle
çıkıyor akşam merdivenlerimi

sıyırırken vaftizleniyor parmaklarım
bir ayinden, diğerine
koro halinde akustik ayetlerim
duvarların dili olsa


"tanrı seni korusun emma"

en azından benim için

iri memelerin
sütun bacak ve
barok sevişlerin

sonu gelmez
gelme sorunum için..

"tanrı seni korusun emma"

en azından
ikimizden biri ölene kadar..


..

Alta Gracia’da akşam oluyor
ve hala gitarımda bir telim eksik
Adabel’de kesti veresiyeyi
kapısına tekme attığım için
son paramla mama almıştım Lorenzo’ya
kafayı bulmadan önce azgın kedime
kim bilir nerde düzüşüyor bunak
bense pinekliyorum küf kokan pencerede
Mercedes geçse bir ıslık çalmam kafi
ama o’da geceleri çıkıyor işe
evi beş blok ötede gitsem
ama ya müşteri varsa içerde
Mercedes bir fahişe
aseksüel arkadaşız
yani ilişkimiz o minvalde
üfleyip püflüyorum son sigaramı
kafam karışık
bir G teli yüzünden
gitarı mı vursam
kolundan savurup duvara
küçük Miguel nerdesin velet
onun zulası vardır keman sepetinde
Miguel oniki yaşında benim öğrencim
Pado çalıyor beynimde her gece
oysa ben Blues üstü Jazz severim
çöküyorum olduğum yere
bir iki damla kalmış
dün geceki şişede
dikiyorum kafaya
ilk defa geç kalıyorum işe
Si’yi Sol’a
tak diyor temiz ruhlar
E’yi B’ye
üst perde’den çal
kleptoman şarkıları
sabahta vur tekmeyi kapısına
say eline mangırları...



Vaha

telefon her çaldığında
damarlarımda yürüyen kan
koşmaya başlıyor ve nabzım
bir yarış atı gibi luta kalkarak
gözlerimi hızla ekrana taşıyor..

"meleğim" arıyor

kaydı olmadığında
bungee jumping’in ipi
kopmuşçasına hızla bir
boşluğa düşüyorum..

intihara meyilli kalp çakram
akordu bozuk bir gitar gibi
devasa kolonların tweeter’larını
birer birer patlatmasının ardından
büyük fırtına sonrası sessizliğimin
fermuarını yavaş yavaş, yukarı çekiyor..

bu mastürbasyonel psikolojiyi
günün belirli saatlerinde
orgazmın eşiğinden dönen
bir homosaphien gibi yaşamak
acı verse de,
versace saatlerin
dolçe vita öpücükleri
bir an da, olsa
bohem ambiansların
ambulansında
sevişmelerimizi serum yoluyla
beynimden yüz hatlarıma yayıyor

benim olduğunu biliyorum
ve birazdan..

"meleğim" arıyor

yazacak
neonlar yüzümde parladığında
ve ben, bekliyor olacağım seni
menekşelerin dansettiği
cezayir sokağında..

..

it sort of breaks my heart, but at the same time... it sort of doesn't...
oh, i'm good in England...
only today i went for a haircut...
Vicky? Nicky? a proper bleached blonde bombshell...
- so those two hours alone must have been nice,
with your parents away on Jamaica?
- the best time of my life...
but i only had one problem... cooking for myself...
oh... no... not cooking per se...
but cooking for only one person... i find it incredibly
impossible to have to cook for only one person...
i cooked a mango curry... ended up eating it for
3 days...
oh my... she's doable... she's ******* doable...
she's all curves... all woman...
i came into the salon in my usual: Karl Lagerfeld attire...
i.e. wearing the same clothes...
with a baker boy cap... here for a hair-cut...
she started to **** herself up... put on extra lipstick
on... pulsating red...
i sat down in the chair before the mirror
and closed my eyes... we talked...
god... she's a plump blush of flesh... i'd do her...
sorry... i would... she might be in her mid-50s...
but i'd still would...
that's the thing... i later walked into a cafe
to buy a coffee... sure... 17? tight ***... petite...
but she cut me with eyes of a shy doe...
i don't do scared... shy...
i do longing... i'm more into that sort of sensation...
i must be an oddity among men...
young women don't really... don't really
pressure me with attractiveness that might
want me to stick... around...
n'ah... it's boring... the canvas is blank...
sure... it looks great on paper...
but our music tastes would be mismatched...
or our taste in books...
at 35 i'm looking... in the range of 35+ 35 - 55...
if there's a child? that's a bonus...
little Frankenstein monster experiment...
maybe we might learn German... Greek or Russian
together?
it just had to be necessary to not get rich...
to have a choice of young women...
my own age... that's better... or older...
i'm happy... burned by Jeminah...
even after giving her the wine,
the banana loaf, the flowers on Valentine's Day...
struck down on my last turn on my bicycle...
oh man... she burned me... but she shouldn't
have lied about me drinking on the job...
so much for dating alcoholics...
wait... i am an alcoholic... but i'm the sort that
puts out cigarette butts on his knuckles for scars:
i'd hate to get a tattoo...
someone who has punch-ups with his shadow
and ends up with a plum-hue mascara under
his eye... that's me...
i tried to reassure her: my grandmother was married
to my alcoholic grandfather...
it's not a sixth sense... you can't smell alcohol
no more than you can smell ****...
of a donkey: a mile away...
but you know how women are... when it comes
to drinking... those stomach cramps
and my faking of loving-up... well...
chances are... she might have thrown a knife at me...
or punched me... and men drink because?
the women are subservient Turkish galls?
in a society where men are men and women are women?
o.k., sure, she burned me...
i don't need to have my time wasted...
to the brothel i went... ah... she's not Khadījah...
the name of the first wife of the prophet Muhammad...
KHEDRA... well... lucky me... ****** Valentine's day...
wait... wait a minute...
are all these English trying to suppose i believe
they're these ******* nuns?
or are the nerves getting the better of them?
even if they are single mums?!
what, a, waste, of, time... i'm not waiting...
i'd rather get the full-on with a Turkish ******* than...
wait for these... ahem... "nuns"...
i'm not waiting... the bus has already left...
KHADRA... not KHEDRA... which means:
green... verdant... quick! quick!
what's green on the Turkish leash of the tongue?!
my eyes are green... coincidence?
what's the word for verdant?
i need to tell her that my irises are the colour
of her name... in Turkish... i hope the grammar is similar
and i don't come off as *******...
hey... if single mums can shun you...
young girls are in it for the gynocentric: whatever...
while the prostitutes are honest...
3 days of her sending my selfies...
today... a picture of her exposed torso... with an emoji
of open lips covering her belly-button
and an emoji of a kiss on her underwear...
if the prostitutes can be truly human...
why bother the rest of the women?

mind you... sort of funny... my hairdresser remarked
something on the lines... Aryan...
you look Aryan...
well... historically... there was this tribe of Iranians
that arrived on the platitudes of Poland...
they were known as the Sarmatians...
Poland was once known as Sarmatia... Sarmaci...
well... it's not an interracial slur...
it's more an intra-racial slur: Moskiewskie Gałgany...
Muscovite... hmm... what's? a 'gałgan'?
well... closest approximation is: bałwan...
snowman... funny, that... the Germans of
the mid 20th century pretended to be both Aryans
and... mythological Norse folk...
can't play two "etymological folk"...
the "Aryans" invaded former Aryan lands of the Sarmatians
to the east... ****** land...
if... an English girl in the 21st century describes
you as... having Aryan features...
you're getting credible information...
the Russians and the Ukrainians...
what? former Swedes...
                  sure... Кaцaпы... KATSAPY...
all intra-racial slurs... historical grievances...
i guess that slur was derived from the word:
PAJAC... clown...
  
now i have two songs deafening me...
dua lipa's love again
and mabel's tick tock...
   although... when i see her next...

now for that lesson in Turkish...
                   hey... there's not time to sort of shy away
from touching from kissing from *******
in general...
i'm no donkey... that English nun type can pretend
to be dangling a carrot in front of my face
until the point i go all cross-eyed...
i could... sort of simp-it-out, but...
n'ah... i'm going for the alternative...
and there's always an alternative...
next time i see her... and that'll be soon...
i don't listen to her music choice...
i want something spectacular...
it's 18 minute of pure bliss...
                Jordi Savall... el cant de la sibil-la...
catalunya... montserrat figueras...
la capella reial de catalunya...
why? she really doesn't have to talk during
*******... it's enough that her
onomatopoeias and ****** contortions are
apparent... i don't need "god" or god in
the bedroom, there is no need for words...
i don't need an instruction manual...
            i want to keep it as animal as possible...
vowels, vowels and consonants coupled...
but no instructions... no ***** talk...
i want the eyes to speak... in myths...
                       i'll get my way: i'm sure of it...

now, of course, it might not be the perfect Turkish
grammar...

sen dedim: inshallah...
Khadra... hangi en anlam: en Yeşil... Jannah...
sizin isim: renk benim iris... yeşil

you said: god willing...
Khadra... which... who am i fooling?
i'm trying to translate like an idoit...
   i don't even know the basics... of... Turkish...
bacl to sq. one... throw a bunch of nouns about...
green is yesheel... Khadra is a name given
to girls... the green grass of paradise...
oh... she's most certainly the green grass of paradise...
give me two more of these and i'll tell you
to stuff my former fancy of having 72 Alsatian shepherds
for company for all of eternity...

the western woman will not have a Monopoly
on my libido... to hell with it....
i've seen what canvases are already "taken care of it":
most? interracial: fat... ugly... seriously... ugly...
beached whale types... pink hair and... running
on steam... or whatever it is that they're running on...
i'm trying to think: orange juice?! please let it be
orange juice? no orange juice?! ****...
go figure... pink feminist hair...
i wouldn't touch that **** with a mile long stick...
i might get herpies... i'm pretty sure i wouldn't
get any with a *******...
oh, i know who's banking that ****'s worth of an
"account"... the African fresh off the boat...
the gene pool geniuses...
i would be forever barking up the wrong tree...
nature: harsh reality: as long as i get the right
sort of ****... Western women's arguments:
oh... but these women are being exploited...
are they? £120 an hour? i'm working ****** shifts as
a security guard... travel for 2 hours each way...
get paid for 5 hours...

i don't we're at a time to: bargain...
Western women are not that much... to think about:
or subsequently engage with...
mad dog ladies... Dubai prone...
sorry... there's only so much time you can waste
on pretending-it nuns...
i think i'll rephrase that: throw some nouns at
her like hieroglyphics... since i can't find the appropriate
conjunctions...

ruhumun
taraçasından akan nehirler
kasvetli
bir ormanın derin uykusundan geçiyor
muson
bereketiyle ıslanmış ağaçların
şükran
sessizliğine saplı excaliburu
oracıkta
puslu bir aynanın ardında
uzansam
benim olacak biliyorum
ama
görmezden gelip
denize koşuyor
yaşam sırrını
bulanık bir
dereye serpiyorum...

Sweet woman with black hair
your life is electric
intelligence floods your eyes.
When you laugh for me
your smile washes the world.

Getting closer to you
by breath and romance
like in a storybook.
I'm writing you this poem late at night
while even my candle is asleep.


Siyah saçlı tatlı kadın
senin hayatın elektrik
zeka gözlerinizi doldurur.
Benim için güldüğünde
gülüşün dünyayı yıkar.

Sana yakınlaşmak
nefes ve romantizmle
bir hikaye kitabındaki gibi.
Sana bu şiiri gece geç saatlerde yazıyorum
mumum bile uyurken.